


No Need for Wrath

by reserve



Category: Dogma (1999)
Genre: Loki is a dick, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:43:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/pseuds/reserve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki and Bartelby stuck in Wisconsin, bored out of their minds, and surrounded by dirt mounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Need for Wrath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TriffidsandCuckoos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriffidsandCuckoos/gifts).



> Hi TriffidsandCuckoos, I hope you enjoy this meager ficlet about two of our favorite misbegotten angels. My apologies for not rolling into full-fledged sex, I just couldn't get around the no dicks thing on such short notice. Anyway: MERRY CHRISTMAS! xoxo

They landed in Wisconsin with an audible thump, and then Loki punched the ground for just about a millennium. Bartleby built hut after hut, destroying each before any of the indigenous peoples managed to stumble upon them and thus alter the course of human development in this (literally) god-forsaken corner of the world. 

When Loki finally calmed down, they both really enjoyed the thousands of animal shaped mounds that crisscrossed the Wisconsin landscape. Loki really liked the bears, and Bartleby was partial to the gophers. 

The people of Wisconsin were just getting their shit together really solidly, when some Frenchmen showed up and wanted to trade furs with them. 

“What do you think about all this?” Bartleby asked Loki one afternoon, as they were digging up a mud basin they hoped had fermented into alcohol. 

“I think you shouldn’t trust Europeans,” Loki replied, gnawing on a piece of moose jerky. 

“No, really, what do you think?” 

“Trust me,” Loki said grimly, “you really don’t want to know. 

As it turned out, he didn’t want to know, because within less than 200 years, most of the folks they’d watched gently toil in the earth and in the forests, were gone. 

Even the little animal mounds had pressed themselves back down into the soil 

“This fucking sucks,” Bartleby said, as he watched Menominee tribe members be rounded up by French soldiers. 

“Yup,” said Loki. “I told you so.” 

By Bartleby’s estimation, they’d been in Wisconsin for almost 1700 years at the point, and it hadn’t gotten any better – maybe sadder, but certainly not better. 

\-- 

Bartleby and Loki stood and looked out over Lake Superior. They were bored. 

The war was over, and most of the American Indians they had enjoyed a neighborly existence with had been rounded up and bodily moved from Wisconsin. Now the lead miners were the only things of interest around, and Loki had assured him that wrath exercising wasn’t necessary; the lead would take care of that on its own. 

“We could swim,” Bartleby suggested. 

“Wings,” Loki said, and shrugged. 

“We can keep our coats on.” 

“Armor,” Loki said. 

“We could just take it all off and go for it.” 

Loki stared at him. There wasn’t a single soul in sight. In fact, there was very rarely any soul in sight unless you were looking for one. 

“Fine,” Loki said, and started to strip down. First came the pilfered army uniform, plentiful in these parts at this point in history. Then came the armor. 

Bartleby followed suit and then they were nude, and it felt wonderful. Truly. He stretched his wings, and rolled his neck from side to side. Loki’s wingspan was impressive, but no more impressive than his, Bartleby mused. Actually, they were just about evenly matched.

“Let’s do this, mother fucker!” Loki shouted, and he plunged over the cliff, wings outspread, arms arching forward into a dive. 

Bartleby jumped after him, but kept his wings tucked to his sides, smooth and sleek. The water came upon him fast, and it was cold. It was November, and even though he didn’t feel temperatures, per se, he could tell that this was not the time of year a mortal might choose to swim. 

When he surfaced, Bartleby let his wings unfurl and help keep him aloft in the water, his own flotation device. The sky was clear and unimaginably blue, and he knew that she was somewhere up there, and that she probably wasn’t looking at them. They were just a drop in the unholy bucket, after all; vanished and forgotten to some backwater outpost of humanity for more than a millennium. They were heaven’s losers. 

Loki swam past him, and spit a stream of water at his face. 

“Hey!” Bartleby called after him, sputtering “do you think we’re losers?” 

“What?” Loki paused and started to do the most heavenly doggie paddle. 

“I said, do you think we’re losers?” He closed his wings, and felt the pressure of water against them like a many-toothed comb. 

Loki’s brow scrunched up. They both had long hair; it was the look of the period. He pushed a swathe of blond hair away from his face and stared at Bartleby. “No,” he said finally. “I think we’re fucking awesome. It’s just that the boss doesn’t know how awesome we are.” 

He came over to Bartleby’s side and put a big hand on his shoulder. 

“Fuck, man,” Loki said, awe in his voice, “what you and I did? The way I gave that bitch back my sword and was just like, ‘mic drop’?” 

Bartleby nodded. 

“That is not the sort of shit losers do, ok?” Loki peered at him assuredly. “That’s like, stone cold bad ass revolutionary shit. We’re like Occupy Wall Street.” 

“Occupy what street?” 

Loki grinned. “Oh fuck man, that will so totally be your jam. I am so excited for when we get there. You’re going to love it!” 

Bartleby smiled a small tentative smile. 

“Fuck yeah,” Loki said, and slapped Bartleby on the back. “We are so not losers. We’re so not. Let’s hug it out, ok?” 

He pulled Bartleby close, and dragged his wings through the water to wrap them around Bartleby’s shoulders like a big angelic cocoon. One of Loki’s hands stroked the back of Bartleby’s head. 

“Even if we are losers,” he whispered into Bartleby’s hair, “we have each other, and we’re going to find a way home. We just need a few more Christians around these parts, and some good research tools. Plus,” he snickered helplessly, “we have, what, forever?” 

Bartleby pressed his face to Loki’s neck. “Verily,” he said. “That’s completely true.”

“Don’t say verily, that’s not what they’re saying now.” 

“What?” Bartleby muttered.

“Just don’t say it.” 

He swallowed and squirmed a little in Loki’s embrace. 

“Ok,” he said. “I shan’t.” 

“Don’t say that anymore either.” 

“Jeez, ok,” said Bartleby, about to remove himself from his earth-bound companion’s wings. 

“Man,” Loki said suddenly, his head resting atop Bartleby’s despite their height difference. “I gotta tell you, I feel so good right now. If I had a dick I would totally fuck you.” 

Bartleby pulled away with a glare. 

Loki grinned toothily at him. 

“Once again, you get off easy.” 

Another 150 years passed before shit got interesting again.

**Author's Note:**

> PS: After writing about another Loki for a few months now, it was pretty hilarious to use the name in a different context.


End file.
